


The Art of Re-acquisitioning.

by ThorneofAcre



Series: The (Mis)Adventures of the Musketeers [8]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Protective overbearing musketeers, Slightly injured d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThorneofAcre/pseuds/ThorneofAcre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan is mugged and he loses the watch his father had given him. The Musketeers make sure he gets it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Re-acquisitioning.

D'Artagnan had a nervous tick. He had the habit of fingering the timepiece he kept on a small chain around his neck. Athos had groaned to himself when he had first deduced that, but everyone in the vicinity had just assumed that it had been his post hangover groan.

It hadn't.

It had been the groan of the man who had to beat it into Aramis's head to 'stop twirling that goddamn coin around like a big bloody sign showing that you are nervous', though lately that had turned into a cross which he had around his neck at all time; it had been the groan of the man who had to condition himself not to clutch the necklace around his own neck when faced with sticky situations.

It had been a very expressive and verbose groan.

But he hadn't said anything to d'Artagnan about it yet. He had been going to, but then one drunken night d'Artagnan had told him that it had been a gift from his father and showed him the inscribed 'for you, my son' on the inner side.

After that Athos just didn't have the heart.

Besides he told himself, it wasn't like he would let d'Artagnan go into life threatening situations where a nervous tick can mean the difference between life and death alone. No, that certainly wasn't happening on his watch.

And that was why his eyebrows shot up and his musketeer-y senses started tingling when, having joined them for breakfast, d'Artagnan raised up his hand and then lowered it back again, looking stricken. "Where is your timepiece, boy?"

D'Artagnan noticed that he was staring and blushed. "Erm-," he said eloquently. "I was stopped by some men last night."

Athos deliberately set down the glass of wine he had been nursing and both Porthos and Aramis sat up straighter.

"Tell me." The quiet order spoken in a no nonsense tone had d'Artagnan gulping and nodding his head before launching into a description of how there had been four men dressed in tattered clothes who had cornered him, how he had been too tired to fight, (Athos had raised a disbelieving eyebrow and d'Artagnan had quickly amended his description), how he had still tried and landed a few punches, and how he had woken up an hour later after presumably being hit in the head, lying in the street with his pouch, sword and timepiece missing.

Aramis swore quietly on hearing about him losing consciousness, immediately getting up to scan his head for any injuries; and Porthos, who knew exactly how many unsavory types prowled the streets at night, sent a small prayer of thanks to the heavens for keeping the man from any further harm. Athos had remained silent letting Aramis do his work, one dark look silencing any protests from d'Artagnan that he was fine and they were over reacting. His mind however was working in overdrive.

"Describe the men to me," he said.

D'Artagnan scowled. "Why? I told you I'm fine, they didn't do much damage and took nothing of value. Besides it was dark and I didn't see much."

Athos was about to give him a piece of his mind about his casual disregard for his own preservation but a pointed look from Aramis killed the retort even before it was formed. He was dealing with wounded pride here and with d'Artagnan that was like a time bomb, and he had no desire to be in the damage zone when it blew.

"Try to remember whatever you can," he suggested in a far kinder tone. "Maybe it would help."

D'Artagnan frowned but like Athos had predicted, tried to recall the events of the night before. Someday Athos would teach him not to give in to him so easily, but that day was not today. Today he would manipulate whatever answers he could out of the Gascon.

"One of them was really big, I think I managed to punch him in the face. Another had a nasally voice, like as if he had a cold or something and there was a third man… He stank," d'Artagnan scrunched up his face in disgust. "I don't think he had ever had a bath in his life. I didn't see the fourth man, he was the one who came up from behind and knocked me out."

One look at Porthos had the man nodding and getting up. Athos looked at Aramis who shook his head. "No lasting damage done. There is some bruising but his skull is as thick as ever."

"Hey!" d'Artagnan protested, battling away Aramis's hands.

"You are going to go home and take the rest of the day off." Athos shot the young man a warning look when he made to argue, "Aramis will talk to the captain about it and he will give you some medicine. You will drink it and go straight to bed."

The mutinous look on d'Artagnan's face told Athos that he had no intention of obeying so he continued: "If you don't do exactly as I say, I would be dropping by later and telling the Lady Constance what happened," he arched a threatening eyebrow. "I am sure you would appreciate her concern and attentions."

D'Artagnan blanched at the prospect of having to face Constance in over protective mother hen mode and he shook his head. "Fine, I'll do as you say. But don't think I am going to forget this." He huffed, petulant. "This is blackmail!"

"I am sure it is." Athos replied drily.

XXX

Two hours later.

"I swear I don't know what you are talking about." The man was big, but he had nothing on Porthos who was holding him up against the wall. "I am telling you I walked into a door last night."

Porthos slammed him against the wall. "Think very carefully, my friend," he snarled. "I wouldn't want you having any memory lapses."

"Look if you let me go, I'll tell you what I know." The man pleaded, and Porthos smiled.

XXX

Aramis had dressed down for the visit, that is, he wasn't wearing his fancy cloak or the hat with the nice feathers. It didn't do well to look like a noble in these streets. He was however a man on a mission.

"Ahh mon cheri!" the ecstatic cry of the seedy looking woman had him cringing. "It has been so long since I have felt the security of your strong arms." She slung her arms around his neck, pushing her chest into his, almost causing her breasts to spill out of her scanty dress.

"Marie, my dear," he crooned, turning on The Stare at her. "I would love to stay, but I have some business."

"I am sure you do, and now that you are here I do too… Lots of delicious business," she moaned in his ear and he had to remind himself not to roll his eyes.

"I want to know, have you heard of anyone…"

XXX

Athos faced the assembled guards and looked each of them in the eye. "You are not to leave any stone unturned while looking for it. I want every beggar searched, every street vendor questioned and any suspicious activity followed upon. Under no circumstances are you to return without it, is that clear?"

"Yes sire!" A smart salute and his answering nod later, the entire unit disbanded and went off in four different directions leaving Athos free to go to the pub.

It was to his immense surprise that he met Aramis and Porthos there too along with a big man with a nice purpling bruise over his left eye, a shorter man who wouldn't stop singing drunkenly in his nasally voice about how he had made a decent business deal recently, and a third man who was sitting all alone, stinking up the entire bar.

Aramis and Porthos beckoned Athos over and he went to where they were sitting, cracking his knuckles in preparation of a good fight.

XXX

D'Artagnan was woken up by an insistent knocking on his door. "Go away Constance, I swear I'm not coming down with anything!" he shouted, raising his head from the pillow.

The knocking grew louder and even more annoying. He got up, swearing, and wrenched the door open. "What…?"

His sleepy mind took a minute to realize that it wasn't Constance but rather three very amused musketeers standing on his doorstep. He simply turned around leaving the door open and went straight back to bed. Until Athos had sent him home this morning, he hadn't realized how tired he was. Between his duties as a Guard of the regiment, his excursions with the musketeers, his training and Constance, he barely had any time to rest.

He raised his head from the pillow at a pointed cough and glared at the three men blearily, taking in Porthos's bloody knuckles, Aramis's hastily tucked in shirt and Athos's hair which was in mild disarray. "You told me to rest. I am resting. What more do you want?" he couldn't stop the whine from entering his voice.

"Good to know you know how to follow orders," Athos commented, the sarcasm in his voice making d'Artagnan roll his eyes.

"Aww, don't be like that!" Aramis exclaimed. "We come bearing gifts." He took out a bottle of wine from his coat and shook it in the air, causing d'Artagnan to roll his eyes again.

"Don't listen to them, we came to see how you were doing." Porthos said, and d'Artagnan groaned, rolling his eyes.

"He rolls his eyes as lot, doesn't he?" Aramis muttered.

"Aye, right impolite fellow, that one." Porthos agreed.

Athos cleared his throat loudly, "We also brought you this," he said, taking out the familiar gold timepiece from his pocket. D'Artagnan sat up his eyes trailing from the offered instrument to Athos's face, in confusion.

"What is… -" he trailed off when Athos handed the watch to him. He took the cherished gift, rubbing his hand over the engraved surface and opened it. Inside was the heartwarming inscription that he so loved: 'For you, my son.' Tears came to his eyes and he blinked furiously to stop them from spilling down his cheeks. He clutched the timepiece in his fist and looked up to meet the gaze of the three men staring at him. "I…-" he swallowed, at loss for words. "I don't know what to say," he admitted softly.

"Don't say anything." Aramis replied, smiling. "Just make sure you wear that on a longer chain so it does not catch the attention of any future mugger."

Porthos grinned, "You don't have to worry about that though. There wouldn't be a repeat of last night, I've made sure of that."

"How did you…?"

"Ahh, that is an interesting tale of a few broken bones, a few drinks wasted, an experience with a lady I would rather forget and some dim witted guards," Aramis said, "But all that is not important. What is important is that you have it back."

D'Artagnan smiled in gratitude, "Thank you. I… You don't know what this means to me. I thought I would never see this again."

"We do actually. It belongs to your father, it is the last thing you have of his," Athos said quietly. He took in the surprised look on the younger man's face and grinned. "You get extremely loose tongued and sappy when you are drunk."

D'Artagnan blushed and ducked his head. Athos knelt in front of him and taking the watch from his hand put it around his neck. "Some things are worth holding on to," he said softly, ruffling his hair, before standing back up.

Looking at the three friends who surrounded him, d'Artagnan couldn't help but agree.


End file.
